


The Kind of Simple Joy

by TheLonelyJournalKeeper



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Family, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Headcanon, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 06:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16403408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLonelyJournalKeeper/pseuds/TheLonelyJournalKeeper
Summary: The boys were in la plaza again. Imelda knew it without looking. They were always in la plaza at this time—not that she had more than a thought to spare for those silly músicos. It just so happened that on almost all of the errands her mamá sent her on, she needed to pass through the musicians’ plaza.





	The Kind of Simple Joy

The boys were in _la plaza_ again. Imelda knew it without looking. They were always in _la plaza_ at this time—not that she had more than a thought to spare for those silly _músicos_. It just so happened that on almost all of the errands her _mamá_ sent her on, she needed to pass through the musicians’ plaza. 

And alright, she enjoyed the music. For a couple of troublemaking boys, they were pretty good, and today, they were in fine form. The hum of their guitars floated over the plaza, entwining with the lilt of their voices. The sound was so insistently cheerful that Imelda couldn’t help but feel a bit heartened by it. It made her want to sing along. 

As she crossed the plaza on the way back from her errand, she hesitated, reluctant to leave without seeing him first. She crossed the square, following the melodies carried by the wind, until she spotted the two _músicos_. 

They were an interesting pair, the two of them, very different and yet very much the same. The older of the two, the taller boy, was strong and broad-shouldered with hair slicked back. He had the spirit of a performer, his body language carrying as much intensity as his playing, and he had a name to match—Ernesto de la Cruz! Many of the girls thought him _muy guapo._ Imelda thought him rather ostentatious. The other boy, the smaller, was lean and slender with a mop of dark hair and twinkling eyes. He was the better musician of the two but with a humbler way of performing. The strength of his music came from his genuine enjoyment in playing it, and he had a lovely common name—Héctor Rivera. 

That was what Imelda thought at least. What did she know about _música_? She just enjoyed hearing it, and she liked the way the two boys shined when they played it. Hearing it was one thing, but watching their fingers fly over the guitars was another. The kind of simple joy the _chicos_ displayed when performing was unknown to Imelda. She was serious by nature, and she had responsibilities—running errands for her _mamá_ , looking after her _hermanos,_ making her _papá_ proud. She wondered what it would be like to feel that full of happiness—watching them perform was about as close as she was likely to get. 

Today, the boys had a crowd of people gathered to watch them perform, and Imelda had to weave her way through it to get a good view. Clustering near the front of the crowd were some more girls around Imelda’s age whom she supposed had had the same idea as her. To her relief, their eyes were focussed on Ernesto. Imelda’s interest in Héctor was personal. She didn’t want to have to share it. 

She allowed herself to watch for a few moments, admiring his skill at the guitar and the timbre of his voice and the way his eyes sparkled with excitement as he sang and the apparent softness of his hair and— _ay no!_ What was she doing? Why was she wasting time on some _chico_ who had never even said two words to her? She turned on her heel and headed for home, thankful she was quick enough on her feet that her _mamá_ shouldn’t notice she had been delayed. 

* * *

Three days later, she was back _en la plaza_ again, but she wasn’t running errands this time, only minding her brothers. The plaza was a perfectly safe place for them to play, she thought. The two of them seemed to like it, enchanted by the music but more so the bustle of people.

Imelda was enchanted by the music too, but she wasn’t going to allow herself to be distracted by it this time. She was looking after Oscar and Felipe. She was going to be responsible. 

She spent a few minutes watching her _hermanos_ as they frolicked about the plaza. The music today sounded different. After a moment, she realized what it was. She couldn’t pick out the familiar strains of Héctor and Ernesto’s voices. 

Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and she whirled around to find a familiar young man smiling at her. He was missing a tooth, something she hadn’t noticed before. 

“ _Hola, señorita,_ ” said Héctor Rivera. 

She put her hands on her hips. “You startled me.”

“My apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to.” 

He seemed sincere. She let her hands drop. “Alright,” she said. “What is it, _músico_?” 

“I’ve seen you around here before,” he said. “You watch us perform sometimes, no?” 

“ _Sí_ ,” she said suspiciously. 

“So… _Gracias_ ,” he said. 

“You wanted to say thank you?” she said, frowning in surprise. 

He nodded. “It is nice to have an appreciative audience. You always seem as though you are enjoying yourself.” 

Imelda flushed slightly. “I do enjoy your music,” she admitted. “You are quite talented.” 

To her surprise, he blushed too, as if no one had ever said he was talented before. “ _Gracias_ , _señorita. Y_ ou are very kind.” 

“You may call me Imelda,” she informed him. 

He grinned. “Nice to meet you, Imelda.” Her name was lovely on his lips. “I’m Héctor.” 

“I know,” she said. 

He tilted his head. “You do?” 

“Of course. Your friend—that de la Cruz—he calls you ‘Héctor’.” 

Héctor laughed. “I suppose he does! You don’t miss a trick, _señorita_.” 

“Imelda.” 

“ _Sí._ Imelda,” he corrected himself. “So… you come here often?” 

“Often enough that I know the regulars like you and _su amigo_ ,” she said. “Where is he anyway?” 

“Ah, he was busy today.” Héctor shrugged. “But I decided I would stop by the plaza anyway, hoping I would see you, and I did!” 

“Lucky you,” she teased, surprised at her own nerve. 

“Lucky me,” he agreed. 

“It is odd to see you without a guitar,” she noted. 

“And it is odd to be without one,” he said good-naturedly. “But I can’t perform without my partner, can I?” 

“Why not?” Imelda asked. She saw no good reason why this might be. 

“We’re a team,” he said. “We’re gonna make it big someday. And besides, who would want to hear me play without him?”

“I would,” she said, frowning. 

“You would?” he said, surprised. 

“Of course,” she said briskly. “Why does this surprise you?” 

“Well, I—“ He put a hand on the back of his neck. “Ernesto is the frontman. He always gets the most attention.” 

Imelda pursed her lips, waving a hand dismissively. “That is because he puts himself out there. _You_ are the better musician.” 

“You think so?” 

“I would not say it if I did not think it was true.” 

He grinned. “Of course you would not.” 

“Imelda, who are you talking to?” one of her brothers said, running up to her. 

“No one,” she said. “Continue playing.” 

“Who is this?” Héctor asked, looking down at the boy who lifted his chin at him in challenge. 

“My name is Oscar. Imelda is my sister. Who are _you_?” 

Héctor laughed and offered the boy a hand. “Héctor Rivera.” 

Oscar shook his hand. “What do you want with Imelda? Most boys don’t talk to her. They say she is too _sería_.”

Imelda scowled at him and whacked him on the shoulder. “Watch your mouth, _hermano_!” 

Héctor laughed. “I think she is just the right amount of serious.” 

Imelda looked at Oscar. “Hmph. See? Now go play with Felipe.” 

He did, shooting the pair of them one last curious glance. 

“I am sorry about him,” Imelda said. “They are both troublemakers at this age.” 

“Quite alright,” Héctor said, smiling. “I think I would enjoy having _hermanitos_.” 

“Are you an only child?” Imelda asked. Almost everyone she knew had brothers and sisters, and if not that, at the least cousins. 

“ _Sí_ , unless you count Ernesto,” Héctor said with a laugh. 

“Who are your parents?” Imelda asked. “I haven’t heard of any Riveras in town.” 

“There is a good reason for that,” Héctor said. “As far as I know, I am the only Rivera in town.” 

“Then where are your parents?” she said, frowning. 

He shrugged. “ _No sé._ I never knew them.” 

She frowned. “Do you live with _tu tíos_?” 

Héctor shook his head. “I live _en la orfanato_.” 

Imelda was surprised, but she tried not to show it. Whenever she’d imagined where the _músico_ went after his performances, she’d always pictured a traditional family house somewhere in town with the usual assortment of _mamá, papá, hermanos, tíos, y primos._ She’d had no idea Héctor was actually an orphan. 

“ _Ay. Perdón._ I can’t imagine my life without _mi familia._ ” 

He smiled at her, indicating all was well. “Tell me about them.”  


“ _Mi familia_?”

He nodded. “ _Sí._ ” 

“Alright,” she said. “You met my brother, Oscar. He and Felipe are twins, and they are seven years younger than me so I always have to watch them.” 

“My condolences,” he said, grinning. 

“I do not mind most of the time,” she told him. “My parents are hard-working people.”

“What do they do?’ 

“ _Papá_ is a carpenter. _Mi mamá_ helps him and looks after the house.” 

“Is that everyone?” Héctor said curiously. 

“No. _Abuela_ lives with us too. The rest of our _familia_ lives out of town.“ 

“Do you ever visit?” 

Imelda nodded. “ _De vez en cuando._ ” 

“That must be nice. I’ve never left Santa Cecilia,” Héctor said. 

“Do you want to?” 

“ _Sí._ I—I want to play for the world some day,” he said. “Though for now, I would settle for playing for you.” 

“I suppose that would be a good place to start,” Imelda said. 


End file.
